


Between the Third and Fourth

by Kasan_Soulblade



Category: The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: A Link of Two Worlds goes wrong, A cross over, Aryll is innocent, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ravio is both pragmatic and cowardly, Windwaker main plot unhinged, claiming someone elses identity as your own by accident, the townspeople might be simple but aren't stupid, where there's only one side of the story seen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: The boy they known was changed in little ways. He’d opened up with age exchanging stoic silence for a droll chatter box’s manner.  He’d quit pestering his elders about tales of heroes with swords, quickly learning of crafts and applying himself to them with enthusiasm so keen it was near wonder.Gone were the long spans of staring at the sea, those times were spent visiting and revisiting the sunny forest atop Outset’s tips.They’d called it growing up, they didn’t know the half of it.They knew nothing about that day, that fall, when up became down and he’d switched one dimension for another (or third for second and somehow stumbled upon this fourth).  When one boy in the claws of courage he shouldn’t have had took a plunge and another heading desperation’s call found his own in that same moment… never mind other where’s and when’s.





	1. The jump, a landing, and enter the wrong hero please,

Spitting sea water and half drowning (and more than half cursing, which wasn’t helping the downing bit one bit) he flailed to land.  Leaving lines, because halfway between safe and not his legs gave out and dragging had become a thing.  A thing that had the sea slapping his backside as if kicking him out to boot.  Regardless of aquatic encouragement he’d made it back.  Flopped on his side with a wheeze and took to gasping after a roll that left him clad in more sand than anything else.

  Ashore and shaking and shaken (because _this_ was not how it was supposed to go), he lay their staring in dazed horror at the ocean before him.  Above something winged and not familiar screamed a short abbreviated sort of screech, others answered, and above they wheeled.  White and near white and too bright their edges all but burned.  To them, and light, and the knowledge that burning knowledge of this was _all wrong_ he closed his eyes.  Yes, he was supposed to somewhere else, and yes by names  alone his destination was synonymous with heights and brightness and some of that was to be expected this was too much.  This was a where where there were oceans where his (not) _house_ was supposed to be.  And that was wrong, wronger than wrong because his house was on a rise.

 And there were no fish or ghost skeleton fish upon the bare eroded rocks he could see.

And there weren’t any deeper down.  Not when he knew because he’d dug down one day (many days), seeking treasures in desperation to show there was some worth somewhere that wasn’t totally unsafe and got nothing but roots and grime for his trouble.

“Big brother!”  Shrill with hysteria, horribly young, the voice’s owner kicked up sand and was more the impression of flailing and running than features.  He caught a glimpse of sky blue, a maybe dress, and then arms were thrown around his side and warmth and the world was lost in a curtain of gold and she was holding him up and holding him tight.  “What were you thinking?”

Wordlessly his mouth opened and closed, finally, though shaking he wound an arm about her, squeezing with one and then though clammy and gritty with salt and yuck she didn’t squirm away.  She  was just warm and near and not letting go and by the bob of her shoulders was maybe crying.  The snuffling into his shoulder made maybe into certainty.

And though he wasn’t a hero or heroic, most of the legends said pretty strongly it was bad to let girls cry.  So he didn’t.  Muttering wordless nonsense, and worded nonsense like “I’m here, I’m ok,” and a few lies besides, because why not?  He did what he could to still those tears.  He wasn’t like any of them, those heroes, and he had a chill queer feeling this when and where ‘d just lost there’s in a permanent sort of way.

As for his when and where, well they’d lost their pseudo hero anyway and it was a one way trip and he’d known it setting out.  He’d known the deal, signed the contract and had walked that line anways

And even if it wasn’t he wasn’t the one jumping off of a…  He let his gaze go up and up and up some more and all thought devolved into a mutely mouthed wow.  Coherence and scorn caught up to wonder as he realized that whoever made this jump was an “A” class stupid with bell atop his dunce cap.

Really, no holds barred that achievement had been made because the nearest nick on the cliff wall that you had to climb up too was so high he could barely make it out from where he sat.  And he wasn’t old, or had bad eyes, or anything of the sort.

 “Would…”  Mouth dry he licked his lips tasting salt and bitter with a bit of iron he tried again.  “Would it help if I promised to never ever be that stupid ever again?”

It wasn’t a hard promise.  Still she nodded, hiccuped, and leaned enough into his hug that he went down under it.  With a laugh, more hysteria than anything else, and a huff, he groaned. “You’re squishing me, gah, can’t breathe…”

“Being squished serves you right big brother! It’ll teach you not to do stupid things!”

Clearly promises meant nothing to this little girl with golden hair, neither did cries for mercy when her fingers descended and she tickled him so much he nearly rolled squealing back into the water.  There definitely was a squelch of mud under him, and she sensibly had let him roll into muck as punishment for being stupid. 

Therefore it was more than just when he picked up some pebbly muck, picking out the worst of the tiny rocks, and tossing it at her as revenge.   Because justice or not she’d gotten him wet right after he thought he might be finding out what dry was like… and… well… just because.

Because he’d never seen a place like this, been able to do things like this.

Her retaliation was quick and sure, as was his counter retaliation, and now assured of her world’s rightness (because he was alright and it was all fine) she ran.  So young, she missed the obvious.  Like how he was unsure of everything.  From steps, to gait, still he scrambled after her, more staggering as he found a rhythm closer to one he remembered as right.

Luckily for him she was so young, so very young.  She never looked back.  Simply sure once assured.  She plied cat calls with taunting, and the occasional terra firma tossed his way when he’d lagged and gotten turned about at one point because beaches were different than stories and they weren’t all the same like the pictures had been.  They went on and on forever it seemed and the space was daunting.

And he had to slow, just a little and crane his head up, because above was so far it looked green and mountainous, and the only mountains in his acquaintance were brown bramble skirted with granite and ice and skulls piled atop them so that with distance the innocent might of thought them snow with snowy caps.

“Come on slow poke, we gotta get to Grandmama’s house, we’re gunna be late!”

 Bemused he let her lead, being more careful not to get turned about.  His thoughts felt like ghosts in his head that were tinged with wonder, a bizarre inventory of have nots.  He’d never had a grandma before, he’d never had a sister either, and he’d only _heard_ of both never having met anyone with either or.  Next of kin were legends, how this person (him but not) had both was nearly enough to make him trip from the shock of it.  

How this person had had these rare wonderful things like living family (who cared, even if throwing muck was an odd way of showing it the preceding panic hadn’t been) and had jumped from beyond stupid high…

Well they’d earned it, that stupid persons cap.  More than.  And they’d lost something and perhaps, if he’d believed in the merciful three or their judgments he’d called this earned too.

Save he hadn’t done anything, important or special to earn anything special or important in return.

Which left the little matter of debts, of scales unbalanced, and the collector who’d make sure they were.

Save he was sure, that they weren’t, and that was enough for now so he kept running, and while running he thought and was careful to lag so she’d lead, this sister whose name he hadn’t heard yet, that wasn’t his but in a weird way was.

Sorta, kinda, in a roundabout way anyway that was making his head hurt to think about it, all of it.

So blaming the pain on the bright that most certainly was not natural from where he’d been, Ravio, pseudo hero from a world that’d never been even in the maddest fantasy of anyone in this wherever he was now just tried to keep upright and forward.

Considering his body, which was shorter and a bit squatter than his own (old) where running just didn’t feel right without a bit of a loupe to it and this body just wasn’t giving him that.  Well he managed, tossing a bit of a hop into his steps because while it might not be right for this when and where running had been a thing.  His thing.  And he wasn’t going to cede it to this never land’s weird rules unless he had to.

She, of course, saw him and tried to mime him as many young things do.  And between giggles (because no he did not run like _that_ thank you very much) he corrected and she’d found the game of it if not comprehended the spirit of it and considering everything and where he’d been before…  Well it was fair enough, imitation without understanding was fine for a little while yet.


	2. A fall without impact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So new tag. In a previous story related to this one I alluded to how Ravio was aware of Princess Hilda's mistreatment, this chapter illuminates why that's so. So some trigger warnings for abuse. Though the scene's short I feel the warning is due.

Once he’d find his gait he’d lost his way in other ways.  Chase with scuffle devolved into making sand castles by the shore.  Well ambitious lumps pretending to be castles, mounds might have been better but he kept commentary to himself, popping pebbles and shells about the perimeters haphazardly.  When that got tiresome he made little round holes, the little blond haired girl did something that looked a bit like stabbing her work with sticks.

“Prickly.”  He noted, because why not?

“Pretty.”

Scraggly, a hybrid of brown and black for protrusions, the sticks stood out at angles.  The effect was somewhere between scarecrow and foot stabbing trap.  _Pretty_ was not the word he’d of picked no matter what.

She took umbrage with that and so they squabbled up the roads past onlookers he noted but did not greet.  All the way up a sun dry road that had green grass licking about its edges.

Supposedly they were going to Grandma’s house, something quickened in him for it, that wanting to think too hard about that he’d thrown his heart into the squabble.

Up sun warmed planks, past a door with familiar (if inverted) triangular squiggle that’d been the ruin of so many.  He’d paused there, letting her nip around still grousing that it was pretty, to pull open a door whose adorning symbol had stopped him cold.  Thus their arrival, his introduction to the greater world was heralded by a hollered.

“Gran’ma! Gran’ma!  Tell Link he’s a seagull poop head and sticks are pretty!”

Really between the stupidity of the insult and that name Ravio rolled his eyes, he just had to.  And that and close the door because Aryll had pulled it open and just _forgot_ about it.

As for this “Gran'ma” she was a wonder all accidental.  Her hair sported grey.  And not the few strands that’d gotten the head of Thieves Town in a tizzy rambling about forced retirement via underling stabbing due to him slowing down, not that little tidbit of grey she owned a full head of it.  There was no panicky jerkiness as she did what she was doing either.  Rather she was stirring something more sweet smelling than a potion by far with a simple, quiet, grace.

Looking up, wrinkled face more-so due to the wide smile, she tutted about name calling, and that it was wrong.  That spurred the blond spit fire to apologize; she was half way up a ladder leading somewhere he couldn’t see.  All he could see were her legs and feet (one sandal’d, one not) the hem of a dress adding a line of color.  Then that was gone and a thump assured it was somewhere near and up.  Rolling his eyes, lips quirking in a small smile (all the better hide how he hadn’t hopped all that much at the loud noise) Ravio lingered by that span between door and deeper in.  Then, more on whim than intent, he slucked off his wet sand scaled shoes, a quick look about found him a broom of sorts.  It was a simple thing of leaves tied together, granted they were big thick leaves almost as big as him, still it was shaped almost right.  With his impromptu broom he chased the sand over the planks floors till the lumpy pile by the door looked near enough.  One opening later, a few swats and the stuff was merrily gone. 

Whistling a fitting tune he popped the sorta broom back where it started and figured he’d earned right to sit by this mysterious (wondrous though she’d never know) Gran’ma.  He’d done a duty, sort of saved the day, good enough for now.

Curiously there was something of his wonder in her now.  Directed at him.  Perhaps thinking she was staring she looked away a bit.  Tick tick went the wooden spoon against the pots side, the pace a bit faster then before.  Still looking over the boiling whatever it was she spoke.

And descriptions of legends failed, because though elder her voice did not creak or rasp or anything of the like.

“How was your day dear?””

“It was nice so far.”  Ravio drawled.  “Did a little of this and that, you know.. stuff”

A hum.  “No adventures?”

As “Who me?”  warred with “Nope” a thump from the ladder (and really did she _just_ slide down that tall thing?  Link’d clearly been a bad influence there) cut off whatever he was going to say. And, no experience needed, he could tell he being was tattled on. He’d never even _had_ a little sister to be tattled on before, so he couldn’t compare this to other things, he just knew.  There certainly weren’t any legends about it to compare. It was done in high form, bespeaking lots of experience and considering the little dunce he’d swapped places with Ravio kinda suspected the girl had a ton of experience doing so.

Still it was a bit eerie how he’d just _known._

“So big brother climbed up and up”  She jumped hands over head a few times to show how “up” it was.  And failed to grasp the stupidity of how high up it was.  “Then jumped all the waaaay down into the ocean!”

He’d seen moblins with less scary glares, certain deranged wizards looked downright sunny compared to the look that the wispy haired woman was giving him just now.

“Does it help if I say I’m sorry?”  Ravio gulped, voice shaking, cringing because how could he not.

A blink, a moment of “Somethings wrong” plastered so overtly over her old features, then in a tone nearly as shook as his own.

“Yes.”

Then, as younger stood staring at elder, both were caught in an awful waiting game.  One for the right things, the normal things to be done, the other for some hint on how to better act.  When neither could get either Aryll took matters out of their hands.  Scampering up the ladder and tossing a grass filled sack down.

“What in Dem- the depths do you think you’re doing?!” 

He’d of rather been hands on hips, glowering, instead of hollering it at her.  Because he’d seen it done plenty of times before (the innkeeper in thieves town had it done to a science so grand it was a legend in itself and had made the most hardened thief wince) and had wanted to give it a try.  But grass and fire got a bit too close and both he and the Gran’ma were suddenly very busy.  He tapping out embers with more tender toes then he used to have, her moving the whatever it was away so it wouldn’t catch.  So he couldn’t.

Oblivious to their scramble, scampering down the ladder once more (she’d seen his glare on her slide down and had taken _that_ hint at least) she was huffy as all small wronged things were.

“Getting you a better lie down than the floor!  What else?”

“You do not just throw things willy-nilly by the fire pit young lady, and you know that!”  Huffed the Gran’ma.

And innkeeper _nothing_ she was better than the young thing at thieves town was by a longshot.

Realizing she was in the wrong, by tone if not by sense, Aryll came forward.  Clearly the spoon pointing towards the spot in front of her was a summoning gesture.  Each toe feeling each inch of ground between ladder’s base and the spot Aryll sulked into her appointed spot. 

Ravio tensed despite himself, despite knowing it wasn’t himself being called over.

He’d expected a thwack at best.  Spoon against backside maybe, because she was so little.  Hand tugging at hair like his folks had done when he had done as they hadn’t liked was the worst he could think of this Gran’ma doing.

She didn’t seem so lean as to go as they’d gone though.  She couldn’t go so far.  Honestly, she just  wasn’t tall enough.

Suddenly remembering those hair lifting pulls that lead to stinging falls when his hair’d given out, that made his flesh creep.  A kick to tell him to get out of the way after they were done screaming, just the thought if it made his heart pick up pace despite him not running.  The remembering set his scalp to a tingling protest and he winced despite the time between then and now. 

Too busy with themselves they didn’t even notice.

So when the little girl was sent with an empty sack to “fix what she’d burnt”  he was more bemused than believing that that was _it_.  Made a bit slow by his panic the elder’s order that he sit on the too warm sack had to be said twice.

She fussed with clicks and hums.  Tapping at limbs, never mind he’d walked back from wherever the fall had been, and looked at his eyes as she tried to root out something he was quiet and her care was done more or less wordlessly. 

Which was really really good, because for him, the eternal chatterbox of Lorule, there wasn’t much to say.  He’d come here after impact, so the boy’s fall wasn’t even his. There wasn’t anything special about a fall without hitting something, and it hadn’t didn’t hurt, not one bit.

When she felt his head for bumps and what not he couldn’t help himself, despite “not falls” and everything else he winced, tears pricking his eyes.  Calloused hands caught his face, about the edges, then slowly, carefully, one hand crept up, and crooked fingers brushed away the tears without a thought of scratching or digging in or anything mean and the like.

“It’s going to be alright.”

That promise, more than memory, made him cry even harder.


End file.
